


Eight Arms To Hold Me

by Omorka



Category: Eureka
Genre: F/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-20
Updated: 2010-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omorka/pseuds/Omorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time, it wasn't Fargo who spilled the wrong chemical, but he still has to deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight Arms To Hold Me

**Author's Note:**

> Consensual tentacle sex, originally written for the LJ Eureka kinkmeme. Post Season Four, and has some mild spoilers for the early part of the season.

"What the hell?" Fargo shrieked.

The shambling pink thing turned and lurched towards him, waving an appendage that might have been an arm. "Vvvrrrggg," it wailed as it stumbled past the lab bench.

Fargo turned to run, and tripped. "Oh, god, don't hurt me," he sobbed as the thing picked him up with one ropy tentacle.

"Zzz mmm," it burbled. "Zzz Dhzhhh. Vvrrggg, hhwwdddd?"

Somehow, the understanding that it was trying to talk to him penetrated the vortex of fear. "Huh?"

"Pbbbblllzzz," the thing begged. It clearly had two main appendages, two long tails, six or eight secondary tentacles, and a mouth, but if it had eyes or a head, Fargo wasn't seeing them. It shifted its grip, holding him in the crook of one slimy pink arm.

He glanced around wildly. A dark suit, coated in transparent goo, was crumpled in the corner of the room. Two sensible low-heeled women's shoes lay on their sides a few feet away.

He looked down at what might be its chest. Was that a glint of gold against the ooze?

"Jo?" he whispered.

"Yyzz," she bubbled. "Vrrg, hlpb mm?"

"Help you?" he squeaked. The whole thing bobbed. "Sure, anything, oh, god, Jo, what happened?"

"Dnn nnnw," she moaned.

"Why were you in Taggart's lab, anyway?" he accused, then bit the words back. "Sorry, Jo, that's not - can you point me towards what did this?"

A single sub-tentacle on one of the main arms pointed towards an overturned test tube as she set him down in front of the lab bench.

\---

An hour later, he looked up from the scanning positron microscope. "Okay, Jo, I think I've identified the compound that did this to you. I, uh, I have good news and bad news."

"Bd nwwz f'rst," she sighed.

"The bad news is that I can't undo the cellular transformation without possibly damaging your DNA. The good news," he rushed to add as she started growling, "is that your basic genetic structure isn't damaged, and I'm about 95% sure it'll reassert itself on its own."

"Hhww l'ng?"

"About two hours," he said nervously.

For a moment, he thought she was about to slap him, but instead she merely swiped a metal rig for a distillation apparatus off the counter and into the sink; it clattered loudly but didn't break.

She turned back to him; he still couldn't see her eyes, but he'd identified the hollows where they must be. "Nnyth'ng w' c'n ddd t' sspb'd td 'p?"

He looked at the ceiling. "Well, maybe. But -"

"Hww?" she demanded.

"It's possible that if you maintain physical contact with another human being with undamaged DNA, it'll 're-teach' your cellular structure what it's supposed to look like," he explained. "But I'm not sure that will really work."

She slumped against the wall. "Th'zz nnw g'd. Hw'd td'ch mm ll'k thzz?"

He blinked. "What?"

She stared at him with her lack of visible eyes, and he shook his head. "Wow, that's so not the reaction I expected. I thought you were going to slap me for, ah, coming on to you. Not," he continued hastily, "that I was actually making a pass at you or anything."

One tentacle curled to her uppermost surface and trailed back and forth across it. It took him a minute to realize she was scratching her head. Finally, she burbled, "Y'd hvv z'x w'th mm, V'rgw?"

He snorted, then grinned. "Of course I would. I mean, you're Jo Lupo. You're smoking hot, no matter what you happen to look like." Deciding he'd better illustrate, he reached out and slid one hand across where her shoulders ought to have been. Her epithelium was slick and wet; it occurred to him that, in a sense, she was all vulvar tissue. Disturbing as that was, somehow that turned him on a bit.

"Yvv'n w'th thzz, nnztd'd vv g'rl prtz?" She waved her tentacles around, curling one around his waist.

He shrugged. "I'm not particularly picky about who does the penetrating, sex-wise. I haven't really gotten laid since we got to this universe."

One of the tentacles slid around to his front and began unbuttoning his shirt.

He cleared his throat. "Um, really? I mean, I'm happy to, but I thought you wouldn't be interested in me, and -"

One of the sub-tentacles laid across his mouth, shushing him. Fargo took a deep breath, turned his head sharply, and caught the tip of it between his lips, sucking on it gently.

Jo shuddered and let out a thick, bubbling moan. A second tentacle undid his belt and tossed the strip of leather across the room; a third divested him of his jacket; a fourth undid his fly. He reached forward and gathered as much of her into his arms as he could, wet and warm.

Something slick slid around his balls, curling around them in a gentle caress, and he forced the moan that escaped his mouth back down out of S.A.R.A.H.'s range. "Oh, god," he whispered, as one appendage embraced his dick - already erect; he'd been rock hard since she's started unbuttoning him - and began working slowly up and down it, ripples of pressure milking him. He stroked with his fingers against the soft surface of her back, trying to give something back.

Another tentacle pressed against his perineum. "A little further back," he whispered. "I mean, if you're into that sort of thing -" Yet another filled his mouth and shut him up, and he ran his tongue happily along it as the pressure shifted to his back door. _No need for lube,_ he thought happily; _the epithelial fluid's just_ \- he gasped as the tentacle slid into him - _perfect._

It clenched slowly inside him. "Mmm hmm," he mumbled around the tentacle in his mouth, trying to encourage her. She withdrew partly; he squirmed, trying to bear down, until she eased the appendage back into him and found a slow, smooth rhythm. His fingers tightened against her slippery flesh. "That's it," he murmured, as the tentacle at his mouth slipped out to curl around one ear, "nice and easy, god, that feels great, Jo."

"G'd," she bubbled back. Another tentacle wrapped around one thigh and tugged his legs farther open; the one on his erection matched the pace of the one in him; yet another slid around his waist, supporting him. He was pretty sure she was holding him up; at least, he couldn't feel his feet on the floor.

"So full," he gasped. "More, please, Jo." Carefully, she slid more of the tentacle up his entrance; the pressure sent sparks shooting up his spine. "Oh, god, Jo, I don't think I'm gonna last much longer - "

"D'n't n'd tw," she murmured reassuringly. "W'nn zy yw c'm'ng, V'rgw, w'nn f'l yw -"

"Aahh," he gasped, clutching at her. Something shifted under his fingers. "Jo, I'm gonna come, please, harder -"

She squeezed and squirmed in a way he couldn't even follow, and then he was fountaining, wailing and shuddering in her grip, completely swept away by the intensity of the sensation. He tightened his grip on her shoulders and let it swamp him.

He opened his eyes to meet hers, wide and brown and dripping with goo. The tentacles slid back, shrank against regenerating tanned skin, and disappeared; toes appeared in the thick tails, then heels and knees, then naked hips, wet and glistening.

She set him on the floor; his knees buckled, and he sank as if he were genuflecting. The last tendrils grew nails and settled back into the shapes of her fingers.

"Y-you're b-beautiful," he stammered. "Also naked. Don't kill me, please."

"No one's killing anyone," she said, wiping the mucosal fluid out of her eyes. "Do I have hair again?"

"Yes. Both places." Fargo flinched, and turned away, but when she touched him, she was laughing.

"Come on, Fargo," she said. "Let's get our clothes back on. I'm sure someone's noticed we're not in our offices by now."

"Sure," he gulped, trying to wipe the mix of slimes off of his groin.

She slithered into her underwear, sticky with half-dry goo, and retrieved her suit. "Oh, by the way, Fargo?"

"Yeah?" He shrugged his shirt back on and struggled with the slippery buttons.

"It was good for me, too." She stepped into her shoes and pecked him behind the ear; he gaped wordlessly as she strode out the door.


End file.
